


Break

by tveckling



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Priest!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 16:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10745373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling
Summary: Mercutio is silent. That’s what worries Tybalt the most, if someone would manage to make him admit worry in the first place. He was so silent and still when he knocked on Tybalt’s door that Tybalt didn’t notice he was hurt until he tried to take a step and collapsed.





	Break

Mercutio is silent. That’s what worries Tybalt the most, if someone would manage to make him admit worry in the first place. He was so silent and still when he knocked on Tybalt’s door that Tybalt didn’t notice he was hurt until he tried to take a step and collapsed. 

Now he has managed to force Mercutio into his bed, even though he insisted on sitting up. His face is ashen but determined, and although his body is sweating and shivering, covered in bruises and small cuts as it is, he somehow keeps still as Tybalt pushes the needle through his skin. Tybalt feels like he is more affected, and curses every time a tremor goes through his hands. He was never trained to be a physician, or even a surgeon, but in his youth he had been treated by them often enough that he still remembers what to do with certain types of wounds, such as wounds caused by knives or swords. And this—a cut across Mercutio’s lower back, a little longer than his hand in length but thankfully not as deep as it had looked before Tybalt cleaned up the blood—this was clearly a wound made by a blade. 

“What did you do?” he asks softly with lowered eyes, trying to focus on doing as good a job as possible rather than how badly Mercutio’s muscles were tensing beneath his hand. 

“Me?” Mercutio huffs a sharp laughter that dies as quickly as it had came, and Tybalt is glad they aren’t facing each other for there is a darkness in Mercutio’s voice that he does not want to get a better look at. “ _I_ did what I always do, I assume. I _existed_ , daring to be myself in plain view, in spite of their disgust. That is all that is needed, after all.”

Tybalt frowns, daring a quick glance upwards before he focuses again. He doesn’t have many stitches left to do, but he wish Mercutio had let him call for a physician as he had wanted to. It would surely have been a much better work. “If you didn’t provoke someone into a fight, what happened, then? Who did this? You are the Prince’s nephew and his heir, no one in their right mind would dare attack you. Even if it is late night there are still- you’re nobility. You’re the heir apparent, since everyone knows the Prince won’t have any children. After the Prince himself you are the most important man in Verona!”

Instead of offering any answer Mercutio is silent. Tybalt can feel the old, familiar anger growing, and he takes a deep breath to try and calm it. It doesn’t take many seconds before he begins talking again, his frustration growing with every unanswered question. 

“Was it an ambush? Is it conspirators, trying to remove a threat? Your wound is on your back. That might happen when someone tries to run and a pursuer manages to get in a good hit, but I don’t think you would run from any fight, no matter how outnumbered you are, you stubborn, prideful, arrogant fool.” It is hypocrisy to be angry about such things, Tybalt knows, since he would do exactly the same. But this is different; this isn’t him, this is Mercutio, and Mercutio is too important to let his pride get him killed. “You would rather let them cut you to pieces than flee. Try to tell me that isn’t true!”

“It isn’t.” Mercutio’s voice cuts through Tybalt’s angry words, and the hatred in his voice is thick enough that Tybalt can’t pretend to mistake it for anything else. “I did run away, in the end. Four against one, and I had drunk before that. Even I understood that I would die if I stayed and fought them all, although I refused to admit it at first. Not until one of those bastards got behind me. Then… well, I could see my two choices rather clearly by then,” he says with a dry chuckle. “Either I stayed and died for sure, or I ran and hoped for survival. 

“There. Aren’t you _proud_ of me? The coward turned his tail beneath his legs and fled, and so he managed to survive another day. True, his attackers will all know what a spineless recreant he is, and they will surely make it known trough the entire city, but then again, the people didn’t think much of him to begin with, did they? Next time, though, next time they will know better what to expect of him, I’m sure. But at least he survived that one day, did he not?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Tybalt says softly and looks down on his hands, not bothering to unclench them. He needs the small pang of pain he gets, or else he fears he will lose control of the fury raging inside of him. But he can’t, he learned that lesson long ago. He can’t lose control, not now, not here, not ever again. “I am happy that you ran, yes, because otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You would be dead and I- the city would be thrown into chaos if that happened. You can’t think selfishly like that, because this is far larger than just you. They can think what they want, the important thing is that you are alive.”

Mercutio takes a moment to answer, again, and Tybalt again curses the rare display of silence. All he wants is for Mercutio to spit out words like he always did, with a smile and self-assured look. Not this sullen, resentful way of only letting words fall from his tongue when he can’t bite them back. 

“I see,” is all he says, and then he takes the scissor from the tray next to him and cuts off the thread, even though the strained movement makes him hiss, letting the needle and thread fall. 

Tybalt jumps up to his feet, and if he hadn’t remembered it was the middle of the night, he would have yelled. Instead he asks, through his clenched jaw, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s good enough,” Mercutio answers in a toneless voice, taking a breath before he pushes himself up. For a second he sways, and Tybalt is sure that he will fall, but then he takes a step and straightens himself. His face, when he turns towards Tybalt after picking up his doublet and cloak from the bed, is as pale as a dead person’s, but only the faintly strained expression shows how much effort he is exerting. “Thank you for your help. I will take my leave of you now and let you go back to your rest.”

“You can’t be-” Tybalt stops himself and breathes in deep, then lets it out. “I am not done with the stitches, and it has to be bandaged.”

“If it is so necessary then I will have it done at the palace.” Mercutio looks at him then, and Tybalt feels frozen to the spot as he meets the cold look. Mercutio looks at him like he’s distasteful, like he’s barely worth enough to be dust on Mercutio’s shoes, like he’s a stranger Mercutio has no wish to talk to. There is a distance in his eyes that Tybalt has never before experienced, never once during all the years they have known each other, and it makes it hard for him to breathe. “Again, I thank you for your help and your concern, but I can handle myself from here. I will make sure that you are compensated for your troubles. Good night.”

As Mercutio pulls his cloak over his shoulders and walks with unsteady but determined steps to the door Tybalt can only stand still, his heart aching in his chest and clenched hands at his sides, wondering what he had done to cause such a change in Mercutio.


End file.
